


Something That Might Interest You

by cozywilde



Series: Nomikh Lavellan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: A missing scene in Dorian's romance, set between seduction and confession.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Nomikh Lavellan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120148
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	Something That Might Interest You

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue taken from Dragon Age: Inquisition, specifically from Dorian’s romance cutscenes. 
> 
> See [Nomikh’s Toyhouse profile](https://toyhou.se/7959085.nomikh-lavellan) for his appearance and history.

_Have you been to your quarters lately, by chance? Do, when you have the time. There’s something there that might interest you._

Surely, Dorian hadn’t _meant_ to hopelessly distract him for the rest of the day. Nomikh’s own fault, in some respects - he made a habit of checking in on Dorian first when he made his rounds through Skyhold. Well, after Varric and Solas. He wasn’t quite so far gone that he’d stroll right past them without acknowledgement on his way to his - well. To Dorian. 

_He’s not my friend, he’s - never mind what he is._ Nomikh could hardly begrudge Dorian his inability to name what was between them. Friends, yes, but not like Sera or Bull or Cole was his friend. He didn’t look to them first after every battle, heart pounding with more than adrenaline until he was certain they were safe; didn’t linger over their profiles in the firelight, tracing every line of their faces with an artist’s devotion. Didn’t kiss them. 

He surely hadn’t imagined that flirting had escalated recently, had he? Their kisses slowly shifting from the first, warm and exploratory, to something that promised, something that teased. _I tease you too much,_ Dorian had said once, laughter still bright in his eyes, but how could Nomikh begrudge him when he enjoyed every moment of it? 

And so, here he was, attempting with mixed success to listen to the rest of his companions’ updates and concerns. Some - Cullen, for instance - were distracted enough on their own not to notice his own preoccupation. Others - stop _smirking,_ Bull, if you please - were all too knowing. But honestly, what was Dorian playing at? _Something there that might interest him?_ That could be anything. A bottle of some kind of alcohol, finer than the Fereldan ale Dorian professed to hate? Some new piece of equipment, an amulet or boots or staff specially made? A hot meal? 

“Have you heard anything I’ve just said?” Cassandra huffed. 

“I… ah,” Nomikh grimaced, quickly backtracking through the conversation. “My apologies, Cassandra. The Seekers, yes? Can you leave the details with Cullen? I’ll get someone on it when next I’m at the war table, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” she said, and then ventured, “Perhaps you should retire early, Inquisitor,” her brow knit in something more like concern. 

“I might well do that,” Nomikh agreed, rubbing his temple. Clearly he wasn’t good for much else until he could find out what this surprise held in store. He turned back towards the main keep, thoughts churning once again. Maybe it wasn’t a _thing_ at all? Nomikh still thought of the massage Dorian had once given him, hands alight with magical warmth. How it had seeped into his muscles, leaving him lax and sleepy; how it had lit a craving for even more contact, the press of hot skin on skin… 

Nomikh shook himself. Surely Dorian would have asked to meet him there, were that the case. No, he’d likely just left something in the room. Perhaps Dorian would join him anyway, for whatever this mystery was. Decided, he ducked through Solas’ rotunda and back up the stairs to the library. 

No Dorian. Nomikh walked slowly through the library anyway - it wasn’t as if Dorian was chained to that particular alcove, maybe he was looking for a volume on the other side - but no. Spur-of-the-moment decision or not, he sighed and allowed himself a moment of disappointment. 

“You’ve just missed him, I’m afraid,” a soft voice called from above, and Nomikh glanced up. A smile played at the edge of Leliana’s lips as she leaned on the banister of her rookery, and Nomikh returned it sheepishly. 

“That obvious, am I?” Nomikh said. Not needing an answer, he continued, “I don’t suppose you know where…?” 

Leliana shrugged, enigmatic. “Not in the direction of his quarters. Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Nomikh said dryly, and she laughed as he raised a hand in farewell and turned to head back downstairs. He wished he could have Dorian with him, but as he’d made himself scarce, maybe he didn’t want to be. Worried of Nomikh’s reception? The thought was ridiculous to him - as if any gift from Dorian would be anything less than delightful, just the thought of him doing such a thing sending warmth through his chest - but maybe Nomikh’s affections weren’t as obvious from the outside. 

Odd to go to his quarters now, while afternoon light still slanted through the high windows of the hall, but none of the gathered nobles in the hall commented (within his earshot, anyway, and his earshot was longer than they seemed to guess). The door closing behind him muffled it all, his footsteps the loudest sound as he climbed the stairs. 

At first glance, his quarters appeared largely undisturbed since he’d risen in the morning. Someone had been in to tidy, at least, the bedsheets neatly drawn up, pillows fluffed. But the rest… his armor still hung on its stand, his staff leaned against the wall next to it. His wardrobe had his usual collection of cosmetics across the top, his desk likewise littered with stacks of paper waiting for his attention. 

He frowned. He’d assumed Dorian’s _something_ would be fairly self-evident. Nomikh crossed the room to his desk, peering over what was there to see if anything new had appeared. 

“So!” Dorian said, and Nomikh turned, blinking. He hadn’t even heard the door. “It’s all very nice, this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man.” 

Nomikh couldn’t suppress a knowing smile at that. _Not a nice man,_ and yet he’d been so adamant that he wouldn’t abuse Nomikh’s friendship, would give more than he was given. Sure, though. Not a nice man. 

Dorian paced closer, the sway of his hips a deliberate thing, made to be admired. Nomikh did, with interest; found himself stepping forward to meet Dorian without a thought. “So here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more… primal.” Dorian’s eyes went half-lidded, fingers brushing over his lips, drawing Nomikh’s eyes, making his breath catch. “It’ll set tongues wagging, of course. Not that they aren’t already wagging.” 

Close enough to touch, now, and Dorian did, setting a hand at Nomikh’s waist to halt his steps. Layers of leather and cloth between them, and Nomikh could still swear the touch burned. Dorian stepped behind him, almost a dance with his hand set on Nomikh’s waist like that, the measured click of his boots against the stone. 

“I suppose it really depends,” Dorian continued, hushed now that they stood so close. “How bad does the Inquisitor want to be?” 

The last, a whisper right against Nomikh’s ear, and he shuddered, held breath rushing out. “I thought you’d never ask,” Nomikh said, tipping his head enough to catch a glimpse of Dorian’s face: a smile, slow and heated; a corresponding squeeze of the hand at his waist. 

“I like playing hard to get,” Dorian returned, that familiar note of teasing in his voice, a little different now in this low, intimate timbre. 

It made Nomikh swallow hard, doubting the strength of his own voice. “And now?” 

“I’m gotten,” Dorian murmured, and Nomikh could do nothing but turn to face him, setting a hand to his waist, to that teasing bit of shoulder his outfit left bare. Leaning up, he found Dorian already leaning down to meet him, lips brushing once, twice, before Nomikh had to pull back, interrupted by his own smile. 

Dorian laughed softly, resting his forehead against Nomikh’s. His hands slid to Nomikh’s back, tugging him closer. Chest-to-chest, Nomikh drew a quick breath. Creators, the warmth, the lines of Dorian’s body, evident even through their leathers - he pressed his lips to Dorian’s again, fervent, swallowing down the short sound of surprise Dorian made. 

This was familiar now, too. The sweet slide of their lips, the tickling brush of Dorian’s mustache, the faint lingering spice of the Northern tea that Dorian preferred. But where they might have paused before, drawn back, they pressed deeper: Dorian’s breath hitching at the sweep of Nomikh’s tongue, Nomikh spilling a moan into Dorian’s mouth when his fingers slid up his neck, played lightly at the hair at his nape. 

“May I?” Dorian asked, a light tug at the knot of Nomikh’s updo. 

“Please,” Nomikh said, and tipped his head to let Dorian tease out the clips and pins holding the bun in place. 

“This hairdo of yours is very distracting, you know,” Dorian said lightly as he worked at it. 

Nomikh hummed. “How do you mean?” A simple bun to prevent his lightning spells from frizzing his hair out of control hardly seemed the height of seduction. 

“It does lovely things for the length of your neck, for one,” Dorian said, and as his fingers slid through the loosened fall of Nomikh’s hair, dipped his head to kiss under his jaw, down the line of his neck. Nomikh’s hands flexed on Dorian’s shoulders, head tipping back obligingly. 

“For another,” Dorian continued, Nomikh shivering at the warm wash of his breath over his skin, “It’s so very neat and proper. Makes one think of how it’d look in a state of dishevelment, after a lucky someone has gotten to bury their fingers in it.” 

Nomikh laughed, “Well aren’t you lucky then,” and drew Dorian back up for another kiss. Even better now, with Dorian’s fingers playing through Nomikh’s hair, tugging lightly to make him gasp against Dorian’s lips. 

“Very much so,” Dorian murmured into the kiss. Longer, this time, between words - Nomikh’s eyes fell shut, and he explored Dorian’s chest by touch, tracing over leather and buckles until he met skin. Dorian huffed a breath at the light touch at his exposed pectoral, made a soft sound as Nomikh slid his fingers beneath the edge of the leather. 

“Now is when one of us mentions that we’re wearing altogether too many clothes, yes?” Dorian said. 

“Mm,” Nomikh hummed, agreeing, and pulled back enough to scrutinize the many fastenings that held Dorian’s outfit together. “I have to admit that I’m not sure where to start here.” Not that he hadn’t _thought_ about it, but he didn’t want to waste time fumbling to figure out which were merely decorative.

Dorian laughed and took a step back, his own fingers going to a set of buckles. Cliched, how Nomikh immediately felt so much colder with Dorian a scarce foot away, but there it was. “How about I do me, and you do you,” he said. “Quicker that way, and I am ever so eager.” He shrugged out of his outer layer, tossing it over to a chair, and then raised a brow. “Well? You too, or do you just want to watch the show?” 

“I don’t think you can blame me for admiring,” Nomikh said, flushing, but set to undoing the buttons of his coat at once. He found himself slower than usual in disrobing, eyes catching frequently on Dorian - the flex of his arms as he drew his shirt over his head, the way his fingers framed his hips as he started to tug his pants down. By the time Nomikh was down to his own trousers and boots, Dorian had already sprawled back on the bed naked, watching him now with half-lidded eyes.

“You’ll have to leave the boots on for me sometime,” he purred, and Nomikh grinned. Novel they may be for a Dalish elf, but if tight leather clinging halfway up Nomikh’s thighs put that look on Dorian’s face, he could get behind them. 

“Sometime,” Nomikh agreed, but not this time. This time he wanted nothing but skin between them. He tugged them off, uncaring of where they fell, and put his fingers to the buttons of his trousers. 

Dorian sat up and beckoned. “Come here,” he said, hand still outstretched, and Nomikh went to him, fingers folding easily into his palm. Dorian used the grip to tug him closer, right up at the edge of the bed. Like this, Dorian had to lean up to meet his lips, the kiss novel again with the new tilt of their heads, the press of Dorian’s bare chest to his. 

Altogether distracting enough that Nomikh jolted when Dorian’s other hand fit smoothly to the front of his trousers, playing teasingly over the buttons. 

“Alright?” Dorian pulled back to murmur. 

“Creators, more than,” Nomikh said, and set his own hand over Dorian’s in encouragement. Dorian grinned against his mouth before he kissed him again, hand rubbing firm pressure that Nomikh moaned and hitched his hips into. 

It lent a desperate edge to their kisses, Dorian alternating between light, glancing touches - tracing out the shape of Nomikh’s cock beneath the leather, popping a button open here and there - and firm squeezes with those long, strong fingers that had Nomikh moaning, achingly hard faster than he’d thought possible. Finally Dorian had opened enough buttons to let him tug the trousers down a bit, dragging Nomikh’s smallclothes along with them. Nomikh quickly kicked the lot of it the rest of the way off with a sigh of relief. 

“Better?” Dorian asked, and set his hands at Nomikh’s hips to pull him back towards the bed. His thumbs skated over the delicate skin over his hipbones, making Nomikh draw in a shaky breath. 

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, and then, “Oh, _yes,_ ” as Dorian cradled his cock in his hand, gave it a firm stroke. Nomikh set his hands on Dorian’s shoulders to steady himself at once, fingers clenching rhythmically with each slow drag of Dorian’s hand. 

“Do I have you weak in the knees already, Inquisitor?” Dorian teased, with a flick of his fingers over the head. Nomikh shuddered, biting his lip. 

“Just Nomikh,” he said - pleaded, almost. Creators knew he hadn’t asked for the title, but he was willing to bear it regardless - just not here. Not alone with Dorian, with a lover, for the first time in far too long. 

“Nomikh,” Dorian agreed, suffused with enough warmth to send a shiver through Nomikh again. “Why don’t you lie down with me, then?” 

“I’d like nothing more,” Nomikh said, and let Dorian pull him down. He found himself rolled beneath him almost immediately, and laughed at the breathless rush of it. And oh, to be kissed like this, Dorian’s warm weight above him, hands skating over the lean, flexing muscles of his back. He shifted his hips, let his legs fall open, and they both groaned as their cocks slid together, hot in the tight space between. Dorian pulled back with a shuddering gasp, Nomikh just as lost for breath. 

“Aren’t you a vision,” Dorian murmured, smiling down at him in heated promise. Flushed to the tips of his ears, Nomikh reached up to pull him down again. “Ah ah ah, not quite yet. I had plans, you see,” Dorian said, setting a light hand to Nomikh’s shoulder. 

“Oh, you had _plans,_ ” Nomikh said, falling back against the pillows with an amused huff. “Care to enlighten me?” 

Dorian’s grin took a decided turn for the wicked. “I think I’d rather show than tell, in this case.” 

“Well, by all means,” Nomikh waved an imperious hand, well-practiced by now, “don’t let me stop you.” 

Dorian flashed another smile, and then bent his head, lips skimming the line of Nomikh’s neck once again. Only for a moment, and then he slid lower, kissing over Nomikh’s collarbone, down his chest. It built a low, steady warmth in Nomikh’s belly, one that sharpened into heat as Dorian’s tongue flicked over his nipple, making him arch and gasp. 

“Mm, sensitive there?” Dorian murmured, fitting his hands to Nomikh’s waist, steadying him as he sucked a kiss there, Nomikh’s moan a ready affirmation. Dorian hummed and switched sides, less teasing this time. The sweet pressure of tongue, a light testing touch of teeth, and Nomikh cried out, hands flying to the back of Dorian’s head to hold him there. 

“Apologies,” he managed after a moment, loosening his grip when Dorian paused, but Dorian just laughed and shook his head. 

“Not necessary, you only surprised me,” he said. 

Permission thus granted, Nomikh drew his fingers through Dorian’s hair; the longer parts quickly grew mussed, the scratch of Nomikh’s nails against the shaved portions making Dorian’s eyes go half-lidded. The expression stayed as he shifted further down, lips light and teasing again on the soft curve of Nomikh’s stomach. 

“Creators,” Nomikh breathed, eyes falling shut as Dorian kissed his hip, the sensitive skin beneath his belly button. Then quickly opened them again, propping himself on an elbow to see. Just that sight alone - the beautiful lines of Dorian’s face outlined in golden sunlight, framed by Nomikh’s thighs - left him trembling. 

“Appreciating the view?” Dorian asked, hands sliding down to Nomikh’s hips. “You should, I’ve been told it’s beyond compare.” 

“Very much so,” Nomikh said, and then moaned low in his throat, hips jumping as Dorian took his cock in hand, tongue flicking over the tip. “A-ah, careful, I - it’s been a while,” Nomikh gasped. 

“Oh has it now?” Dorian said, fingers playing lightly over his length. “And you haven’t - taken the edge off, so to speak?” 

Nomikh flushed, and laughed. “Well I didn’t say _that._ But it’s different, with you. Not just my imagination.” 

“I do hope I can live up to expectations, then.” 

“Imagination couldn’t compare,” Nomikh said, earnest, reverent. The lazy movements of Dorian’s hand stopped for a moment, and then he ducked his head, laughed softly. 

“Glad to hear it,” he said, and held Nomikh’s gaze as he bent down again, fit his lips over the head of his cock. 

“Oh,” Nomikh sighed. “Oh, Dorian - _yes._ ” At the first hint of suction his fingers tangled in Dorian’s hair again, earning a low hum from Dorian that sent a shiver of heat through him. 

Dorian seemed determined to unravel what composure Nomikh had left. He bobbed his head in long, slow strokes, drew back to trace the tip with his tongue. And always, his eyes steady on Nomikh’s, molten silver in the slowly dying afternoon light. “Creators, Dorian, you look…” Nomikh groaned, back arching as Dorian responded with a particularly eloquent twist of his tongue. 

All too soon Nomikh shook with every pass of Dorian’s mouth, hips riding up to chase the slick heat of it. “Ah, Dorian, I - please, I’m going to -” His thighs tensed, stomach clenching to fight off the climax that threatened to crash over him at any moment. 

“Mm,” Dorian hummed, the sound distinctly pleased, lips still tight around Nomikh’s cock, and Nomikh practically sobbed as the vibrations ran through him. Dorian pulled off with a slick, wet sound a moment later, hand stroking slowly as he licked over swollen, reddened lips. “So polite! But unnecessary. Don’t hold back on my account.” 

And with that, he engulfed Nomikh’s cock in wet heat again, swallowing him down to the base with practiced ease. It punched a groan out of Nomikh, and Dorian’s hands sliding to his ass encouraged the quick rocks of his hips, the heady pleasure building low in his stomach. “Oh, Creators - Dorian - oh, oh,” he gasped, and with a low cry he spilled into Dorian’s mouth. Dorian moaned, swallowed around him, and drew back in slow increments, finally letting him slip free when he shook and whined from oversensitivity. Nomikh flopped weakly back to the pillows, breathless, and a moment later Dorian reclined next to him, propped up on an elbow. 

“This, right here,” Dorian said, drawing a hand through the tangle of Nomikh’s hair on the pillow. “Just as I pictured. Messier than usual, but even prettier somehow.” 

“That so?” Nomikh murmured, his smile irrepressible, and then, “Come here,” dragging Dorian down for a long, lazy kiss. “Creators, you’re incredible,” he said, when they drew apart again. And then, playful, “Was that the entire plan, or is there more to come before I have my turn?” 

“I’m at your mercy,” Dorian said, with that particular little half-smile that always made Nomikh want to kiss him - and so he did, pressing closer with each slide of their lips together, finally rolling Dorian onto his back. Dorian’s arms settled easily in the dip of his waist, hugging him closer. Too soon yet for Nomikh to grow hard again, but still he gave a soft moan, feeling the hot length of Dorian’s cock alongside his. Wonderful, how it made Dorian groan in turn, but not quite enough. 

Nomikh sat up, steadying himself with hands on Dorian’s chest as he rolled his hips experimentally. Dorian cursed softly in Tevene, hands falling to Nomikh’s hips and squeezing as his head fell back to the pillows. Nomikh grinned to see him so overwhelmed, and kept up the slow shift of his hips as he took his turn to explore. 

Leaning down to kiss along the fine line of Dorian’s throat, Nomikh’s hair fell around them in a fine curtain. Dorian laughed breathlessly at the tickling brush of it, one hand drawing it back over one shoulder. “Can’t have you hidden away, can we?” Dorian said. 

“I suppose not,” Nomikh said, tilting his head into the press of Dorian’s hand. “Do you like to watch, then?” 

“When the view is this exceptional, certainly.” 

Nomikh laughed, and ducked his head to press his lips to Dorian’s chest. “You flatter me,” he murmured, and laved over one of Dorian’s nipples. He shivered - perhaps not quite as sensitive as Nomikh, then - and gave a soft noise of approval. A kiss to the other nipple, for evenness’ sake, but with Dorian’s hips shifting needily beneath him he didn’t want to linger long. They had plenty of time to tease later. Or so Nomikh hoped, anyway. 

He shifted backward to settle himself between Dorian’s thighs, and had to pause a moment. It felt _real,_ suddenly - Dorian laid out before him, unclothed and unselfconscious, hair ruffled and eyes glinting warm in the afternoon light. Dorian’s skin beneath his hands, soft, a little sweaty. _Real._ He hadn’t thought - had scarcely allowed himself to _dream_ he could have this. 

“Nomikh? Did I lose you somewhere?” 

“Sorry,” Nomikh said, giving him a sheepish smile, “Thinking.” He slid his hands up Dorian’s thighs, soothing, apologetic. It wasn’t like him to let his attention stray like that, but he supposed this wasn’t really _like_ any other encounter he’d ever had.

“Well there's your problem,” Dorian said, teasing. He smiled, but his brow knit with concern. “Do you want to…?” 

“Stop? Creators, no,” Nomikh said. “I just… couldn’t quite believe it for a moment.” He bent his head again, pressing a kiss just below Dorian’s navel. It made him shiver, breath going out on a shaky gasp. “That you’re here with me, and this isn’t just a dream.” 

“I could say the same,” Dorian said softly. His hands fisted in the sheets, and he groaned as Nomikh’s lips brushed the base of his cock. “Nomikh -” 

“Mm, yes?” Nomikh murmured, kissing up the length of Dorian’s cock, holding him carefully in place for his mouth with light fingertips. He looked up at Dorian with half-lidded eyes, delighted to see him biting his lip, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. “Something you need?” 

“I think you know very well,” Dorian managed to say with a good bit of his usual attitude. For now. 

Nomikh gave him a smirk, and started kissing back down again. Dorian’s cock twitched against his lips, a bead of precome pearling at the tip. “Maybe I’d like to hear it.” 

Dorian groaned. “I knew the teasing would come back to bite me.” 

“I’ll only bite if you ask me to,” Nomikh said, holding back laughter at the expression on Dorian’s face. “Promise.” 

Half-chuckling, half-gasping, Dorian said, “Nomikh, please, your mouth -”

Ah, that was probably enough teasing for now. Nomikh had mercy on him, and licked over the head of his cock. One hand curled around the base; the other, at Dorian’s hip. A good thing too, as his hips jerked up at that first firm touch. 

“Apologies,” Dorian gasped. Nomikh just shook his head, already sliding forward to take Dorian into his mouth. So hot against his tongue, heavy with his arousal; Nomikh let his eyes fall shut, the better to feel as Dorian’s length slid over his lips. “Maker, Nomikh…” Dorian groaned, and Nomikh hummed happily, tongue caressing the underside of Dorian’s cock, opening his eyes again to watch the pleasure play over Dorian’s face. 

It had been a while since he’d done this - Creators, he didn’t even want to think about how long - but the motions came back to him easily. Easier still, as Dorian responded so beautifully to every pull of his mouth, each flick of his tongue. His fingers knotted in the sheets, and Nomikh reached over to take one of his hands, setting it at the back of his head instead. 

Dorian took the hint easily, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly. Nomikh moaned approvingly and sank lower on his cock, lips meeting his hand around the base. A moment to adjust, and then he drew his hand away, pushing on until he could swallow around the full length of Dorian’s cock. Dorian made a strangled noise above him, fingers clenching in Nomikh’s hair just this side of too tight; he had to draw back with a shiver, his own cock starting to take interest again. 

Dorian looked at him wide-eyed, and Nomikh licked his lips with a grin. “Surprised?” he asked, and gave Dorian’s cock another stroke just to see him shudder. 

“That our fearless leader is so talented? I can’t say I hadn’t entertained the thought, looking at this mouth.” Dorian stroked over the curve of Nomikh’s bottom lip with a thumb, and Nomikh hummed, flicked his tongue out to tease at it. “Let’s just say it’s been some time for me as well.” 

“Then let’s not make it longer,” Nomikh suggested, and Dorian huffed a laugh, nodding. “Don’t be afraid to pull,” Nomikh added, as he bent over Dorian’s hips again, replacing Dorian’s hand in his hair. 

Dorian responded with a groan, though whether at the comment or at Nomikh’s tongue circling the head of his cock was anyone’s guess. His fingers did tighten though, making Nomikh pull against his grip as he sank down on Dorian’s cock again, and Nomikh moaned, pressing his hips against the sheets. 

Quicker, then, as Nomikh lost the will to tease. He closed his eyes, let Dorian guide him with the hand knotted in his hair, each tug at it sending a tingling shiver down his spine. Swallowing, he heard Dorian cry out, and tasted the salt of precome on his tongue the next time he drew back. 

“Nomikh, Nomikh -” Dorian tugged at his hair, harder now, and Nomikh groaned, muffled by his cock. Dorian swore in Tevene again, the muscles in his stomach going tight. “S-Stop a moment, please?” 

Nomikh pulled off at once, panting for breath. Dorian fared little better, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. “Something wrong?” 

“Maker, no,” Dorian laughed. “Just - too close.” He pet through Nomikh’s hair, and Nomikh smiled, tipping his head into the touch. 

“Too close? I rather thought close was the point,” Nomikh said, licking his lips. They felt swollen, sensitive; from the way Dorian’s eyes caught on them, they must have looked it too. 

“...Yes,” Dorian said. “Yes. But, if you were amenable, I think I’d quite like you to fuck me.” 

Nomikh blinked, admittedly surprised. Most of the humans he’d slept with preferred things the other way around, near-exclusively, which he didn’t mind - but he supposed Dorian was hardly most humans, and he in turn was no passing fancy or idle curiosity to indulge. “Really?” he asked anyway, and let his hands rest at Dorian’s hips, rubbing over his hipbones. Dorian’s breath stuttered, and his legs splayed further open around Nomikh’s shoulders. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “If - if you’d like.” 

“More than like, I’d love to,” Nomikh said. He left a parting kiss at the tip of Dorian’s cock - Dorian gasped gratifyingly, thighs tensing - before he stood to come around the side of the bed, rummaging in the side table’s drawer for the flask of oil he kept there. Close at hand, thankfully, so he could quickly turn his attention back where it belonged. 

His breath caught in his throat. Dorian had taken the time to arrange himself, turning over so that the afternoon light caught at the broad span of his shoulders, dipped down to the curve of his waist, rose again to the swell of his ass. He had to know full well the effect he had; a smirk turned the edge of his lips, and his eyes gleamed as he watched Nomikh stare. “Well?” he asked, warm, amused, “Don’t leave me in suspense.” Nomikh shook himself with a laugh. 

“Forgive me for taking in the view,” he said, and stepped back to the bed, climbing on to kneel behind Dorian. Pillowing his head on his arms, Dorian watched him over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. “Creators, look at you.” Nomikh put the oil aside a moment, wanting both hands to use as he set them to the curve of Dorian’s ass, felt the slight give of the warm skin under his fingers. “Beautiful.” 

“Not that I don’t sincerely appreciate your appreciation, because I most certainly do, but perhaps you could -?” 

“Get on with it?” Nomikh finished for him, and laughed. “Of course.” He took up the oil again and slicked his fingers, cast a brief bit of fire magic to warm them. When he slid two over Dorian’s entrance he shivered, moaned shakily. 

“Do you like that?” Nomikh asked. “The heat?” He lingered, just shy of pressing inside, and gave Dorian another little burst of it. 

_“Fuck,”_ Dorian gasped, and nodded, biting his lip as Nomikh stroked over him again. “Yes. Maker, yes, now come on -” 

Dorian’s words cut off at the first press of Nomikh’s finger, and he groaned as it sank in. Easily, so easily, and Nomikh wondered if it was only his slim elven fingers, or if Dorian wanted it - wanted _him_ \- that much. He could dream, he could hope, but for now his focus was all for the man in front of him, the tight heat that clenched around his finger. “Good?” he asked, and stroked Dorian’s thigh with his free hand, feeling the muscles tense then relax under his touch. 

“Oh yes,” Dorian said, “Very good, if you’d only give me more. I won’t break.” 

“Eager,” Nomikh teased, as if he wasn’t already lining up a second finger, as if he didn’t _ache_ to drape himself over Dorian at once, push their bodies together until they were too close to tell one from the other. Two fingers slid in almost as easily as one had, well-slicked with oil as they were. 

“Yes,” Dorian hissed, and then moaned as Nomikh rocked his fingers, massaging tense muscle into pliancy. “Yes, fuck, like that.” Oh how Nomikh wanted to linger, feeling the tight clutch of Dorian’s body slowly relax for him, but Creators help him, he’d waited long enough. Careful but quick, he stretched Dorian open, angling his fingers just so… 

Dorian gave a sharp moan, a delicious shudder going through him. 

“Aha,” Nomikh purred, self-satisfied, and pressed in again, rubbing deliberately over that spot. “There?” He had to set a hand to his own cock at the strangled sound of pleasure Dorian made at that, a tight squeeze at the base to hold back a sudden rush of heat. 

“Yes,” Dorian managed to gasp. And then, “More,” muffled in his arms as he arched his back, offering himself in clear invitation that Nomikh was helpless to refuse. 

More oil, then, so that three fingers could slide in as easy as anything, the sound of it slick, lewd. “Dorian, Creators, look at you,” Nomikh murmured. He massaged at the cheek of Dorian’s ass with his free hand, getting fleeting glimpses of the stretch of his hole around his fingers. It set his cock throbbing, imagining that same slick heat drawing him in. 

Dorian’s hips rode back into Nomikh’s hand; frustrated, needy. Nomikh hardly had to move his fingers at all now. Dorian moaned, half-muffled in the pillows, but raised his head to demand, “Maker, Nomikh, fuck me!” 

“Yes,” Nomikh said, “Yes,” and drew his fingers out. Dorian shuddered, back arching at the withdrawal, shifting impatiently as Nomikh fumbled for the oil to slick his cock. Creators, he was perfect, the curve of his ass, the long graceful lines of his back, his legs, but - 

“Dorian, can you - turn over for me?” Nomikh asked. “I want to see your face.” 

Dorian didn’t bother with an answer, just pushed himself up on shaking arms, still managing to roll onto his back with a fair amount of grace. Breathtaking, in the truest sense. To see his silver eyes dark and hazy with wanting, his hair mussed from the pillows and Nomikh’s hands, his cock flushed and leaking against his belly. 

“Thank you,” Nomikh breathed. “That’s -” _you’re_ “- perfect.” 

“I aim to please,” Dorian said, with a lazy smile. He hooked a hand behind his knee and drew his leg up, spreading himself open for Nomikh. The slickness of the oil gleamed against his skin, the dripping lines of it drawing Nomikh’s eyes right back to the flushed rim of Dorian’s entrance. 

“Fenedhis,” Nomikh groaned, and scrambled forward at once to slot between Dorian’s thighs, sliding easily in the mess of oil they’d made. They gasped in unison as Nomikh’s cock rode against Dorian’s ass, catching fleetingly against his rim. “Creators, you look - you feel -” Nomikh steadied himself with effort, drawing back just enough to reach between them, press his cock to Dorian’s entrance. “Can I -”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dorian said, cutting off the question, and Nomikh laughed breathlessly as he started to sink inside. Dorian squeezed around him like a vice, and Nomikh bit his lip on a moan. He wanted this to last forever; he could come right now just from this. “More,” Dorian pleaded, “Nomikh, _more,_ ” and Nomikh couldn’t do anything but oblige him. 

Short rocks of his hips to start, as Dorian gasped and shifted his hips in counterpoint, slowly loosening around him. “Ohh,” Nomikh moaned when at last he bottomed out, and stuttered to a halt, just feeling the tight heat of Dorian’s body. His cock throbbed, threatening to spill. “Creators, just - a minute.” 

Dorian nodded, looking very much like he could take a minute as well. Chest heaving, lips swollen from the press of his teeth -

Nomikh had to get closer, had to lean up to kiss those bitten lips. Sloppy, with the both of them breathing hard, Dorian shuddering as Nomikh’s stomach pressed against the hot, twitching length of his cock, but achingly good. Nomikh rolled his hips once; Dorian groaned, clutching at his back. “Okay?” Nomikh asked between kisses. 

“Yes, yes -” Dorian said, drawing his legs around Nomikh’s waist, letting him sink in just that little bit deeper. “Fasta vass, move, _please_.” 

Nomikh nodded, kissed him to feel Dorian’s moan against his lips as he drew back, thrust forward again, slowly building a rhythm. Fuck, but he wouldn’t last long like this; not with the slick, urgent sound of their hips meeting, with Dorian so beautifully responsive, arching into every thrust with a chorus of gasps and moans. So good, so very nearly perfect, but Nomikh could make it better. He shifted his hips each time he thrust forward, searching for just the right angle - 

_“Fuck!”_ Dorian writhed in his arms, Nomikh hissing at the sting of nails at his back that only added to his desperation, quickening his thrusts. Dorian gave a moan that was half a whine with every one, a rapidly rising crescendo. 

“Can you -?” Nomikh gasped, and drove into that spot again, again. “Just like this?” 

“Yes,” Dorian cried, practically _sobbed_ , “Yes, there, don’t stop, Nomikh _please_!” A low, keening moan, and then Nomikh felt a spurt of wet heat between them, Dorian’s cock twitching against his stomach, again and again for each time Nomikh’s cock sank home. Too much, the ecstasy on Dorian’s face, the tight clench of his body around him, and Nomikh followed him over with a shaky groan, shuddering to a halt at last. 

Quiet, then, save for the ragged sounds of them both breathing. Nomikh came back to himself in darkness, face pressed to the curve of Dorian’s neck. He felt almost shattered, the scattered pieces of himself slowly drawing back in with each breath, each brush of Dorian’s fingers along his spine, each place their sweat-slick skin touched. He lifted his head to find Dorian already watching him, eyes soft, hair mussed; relaxed in a way Nomikh had never seen him before. _Ma vhenan,_ he thought at once, _my heart_. The most unlikely man, in the most unlikely of circumstances, but it felt certain, felt _true,_ like so little did these days. 

“Hello,” Dorian said, the curve of his teasing smile something altogether new like this, when Nomikh could press his own lips to it and taste himself there. “Mm,” Dorian hummed into the kiss, lifting a hand to pet through the fall of Nomikh’s hair. “I see I have you back with me.” 

“Yes,” Nomikh agreed, and kissed him again. He knew all too soon this languorous warmth would become uncomfortably cool and sticky, and resolved to luxuriate in it for as long as he possibly could. “That was - you were -” 

“Marvelous? Wonderful? Magnificent?” Dorian said, and grinned. “Should I be proud of myself, to reduce the great wordsmith of our Inquisition to speechlessness?” 

“I think you’ve earned whatever pride you’d like to claim.” Nomikh brought a hand up to brush the tousled locks of Dorian’s hair back from his forehead. 

“Well,” Dorian said, that sweet expression of softness returning, “You were pretty marvelous yourself.” This time it was him who leaned up, catching Nomikh’s lips in a kiss; short-lived though it was, as they both shuddered at the slide of their bodies together, the warm sensitivity tipping over into tenderness. 

“Sorry,” Nomikh said ruefully, and shifted to pull out. Careful, of course, but that didn’t stop Dorian from shivering as he withdrew. “Wait here, I’ll clean us up.” 

Dorian nodded, and stretched in a way that made it difficult for Nomikh to pull his eyes away to start looking for a washcloth - all that lean, supple musculature, glistening with sweat in some places, oil and spend in others. _Which you were going to clean up,_ he reminded himself firmly, and set to rummaging through his things for a cloth. 

When he turned back to the bed with both a cloth and a basin of water (ice he’d conjured and then swiftly melted), Dorian was watching him with an amused smile. “You don’t spend much time up here, do you,” he said. 

Nomikh shrugged and deposited his findings on the bedside table. “Mostly to sleep. And to deal with whatever gets left for me,” he said, nodding to his desk, and the many, many reports that lay there. 

Dorian huffed. “Such grand quarters, and he doesn’t even use them!” 

“I’d give them away if I could,” Nomikh said, perching on the bed at Dorian’s side. He threw Dorian a wry grin as he wetted the washcloth. “Pretty sure I tried, and Josephine would hear nothing of it.” 

Dorian hummed, closing his eyes as Nomikh started wiping up the mess on his belly. “Where would you be, then? If you could choose.” 

_Back with my clan_ and _wherever you are_ warred briefly in Nomikh’s head, but he shook them off. Not what Dorian was asking, not really. “Somewhere greener,” he said, after a moment of thought. “Above the garden, maybe, where there are lots of people about. Being so high up like this, surrounded by all of this stone, it’s - cold. Lonely.” 

“And you get enough of that already,” Dorian said softly. 

“Mm,” Nomikh agreed, but he smiled at Dorian a moment later. “Better, though, with someone up here with me.” He tapped at Dorian’s thigh, nudging him to shift his legs wider so he could continue his cleaning. 

Dorian stayed quiet, contemplative almost, as Nomikh finished wiping him down. He gave himself a more brusque cleanup, then set the cloth back on the bedside table and laid back down beside Dorian. Even as he did, Dorian got to his feet, pacing across the room until he stood in front of the windows. Nomikh sat up a little, watching; Dorian didn’t look upset, exactly, but there was an odd sort of restlessness to him that made it difficult to appreciate the sight of him like that, backlit and casually nude. 

“I like your quarters,” Dorian said, apropos of nothing. 

Nomikh smiled, though he wasn’t sure whether Dorian saw with the fleeting glances he kept shooting over his shoulder. “Do you now?” 

“Don’t misunderstand,” Dorian said - another of those brief looks, his expression difficult to read. “I’m not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity. I just like your appointments.” 

“Ah.” A swooping sort of dismay in Nomikh’s stomach; disappointment too weak a word for it. Still, he reminded himself: Dorian had promised nothing, and had asked nothing in return. It was Nomikh’s fault if he had already grown comfortable with the idea of him here, helping to fill the too-empty space of his grand appointments as he was now.

“Not that I couldn’t suggest some changes,” Dorian said, and at last he turned back towards Nomikh and sat at the edge of the bed. “Your taste is a little… austere.” 

Nomikh tried to meet his eyes, and failed as Dorian stared determinedly out at the windows. “You seem a little… distracted,” he said slowly. 

“Sex will do that,” Dorian said, a familiar smirk on his lips. “It’s distracting.” 

“I heard a rumor,” Nomikh said, ignoring the obvious invitation for additional distractions. Instead he waited, smiling gently in encouragement. If Dorian would just talk to him, just tell him what was wrong… 

“Very well,” Dorian sighed after a moment. “You’ve rooted me out. There is something I want.” There his words seemed to fail him, and he looked down at the floor. When he began to speak again it was quietly, carefully even. “I’m curious where this goes, you and I. We’ve had fun. Perfectly reasonable to leave it here, get on with the business of killing Archdemons and such…” 

When it seemed that Dorian would say no more, Nomikh sat up, mirroring Dorian’s posture at the edge of the bed. Surely, if he really _wanted_ to leave it here, he wouldn’t sound so very melancholy about it. “Tell me what _you_ want.” 

“All on me, then?” 

Nomikh raised an eyebrow. “Should it be all on me?” 

Dorian sighed. “I _like_ you,” he said, and even the frustrated edge to his voice couldn’t stop the bloom of warmth Nomikh felt at the words. “More than I should. More than might be wise. We end it here, I walk away. I won’t be pleased, but I’d rather now than later. Later might be dangerous.” 

“Why dangerous?” Nomikh asked. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face, even as somber as Dorian seemed determined to be. 

Dorian stared down at the floor. “Walking away might be harder then.” He looked back up, and Nomikh felt his smile slide into something gentler at the hopeless desperation he saw in Dorian’s eyes. _He doesn’t want this to end, but he expects it to._ Brave of him then, to put the question out there anyway, admitting his own affections; he could give Dorian the same courtesy. 

“I want more than just fun, Dorian,” Nomikh said, and Dorian quickly looked away again. Even in profile, his surprise was more than evident. “Speechless, I see.” 

“I was… expecting something different,” Dorian said, with a soft, bemused laugh. He shook his head, and then met Nomikh’s eyes. “Where I come from, anything between two men… it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.”

Creators, how his heart ached at that, the thought of this man denied affection, denied love, denied anything but the physical. “This is more, Dorian,” he said, urging him to understand. “Right here.” 

“Funny I didn’t recognize it then,” Dorian said, and slowly he smiled, a gradual, warm thing like the dawn breaking. Nomikh felt himself mirroring it. “Care to, ah, inquisit me again?” Dorian asked, and this time that inviting tilt to his head was irresistible, all joy and relief and affection. “I’ll be more specific in my directions this time.” 

“I’m sure,” Nomikh said fondly, and let Dorian push him back down to the pillows. 


End file.
